Chapter 13: The Walk I Took in Beaded Sleeves
The crystal shell didn't fall on its own. I had to step out of it.
I felt the weight shift when I moved my right foot back and then left. The glitter tulle caught on my heel for a second and then released. It settled on the marble in a circle around where I'd been standing, the long sheer sleeves empty, the back still open where the zipper stopped. The light from the chandeliers hit the beading and scattered it across the floor. I was standing in the ivory lace.
The air felt different without the outer layer. Lighter. The beaded illusion sleeves rested against my arms, the sweetheart neckline sat where it was supposed to sit, the floral embroidery lay flat against my body instead of being pressed under something else. I could breathe without the tight scoop back pulling.
I didn't look down at the pile. I looked at him.
He was still to my left, in the black tuxedo with the bow tie. His hands were at his sides. He hadn't moved to pick up the dress.
"I won't marry you today," I said. My voice didn't shake the way I thought it would. It was steady, but I had to pause between words to make it stay that way. "Not in a costume. Not when it erases me."
He opened his mouth. Closed it. His eyes went from my face to the crystal on the floor and back.
"Isabella," he said. It was the same way he'd said it when I had my hand on the zipper. Just my name, like he thought saying it would be enough to make me stop.
"It's not about the dress," he said then, quiet. "You know it's not."
"It is," I said. "That's the point."
Behind him, his mother made a small sound. She stepped forward, her navy lace sleeves brushing her wrists. Her hands were clasped and then unclasped.
"Isabella, sweetheart," she said, and her voice lifted, louder, aimed not at me but at the tables closest to us. "This is stress. This is wedding-day stress. We've all felt it. She hasn't slept. She didn't eat this morning."
She was smiling while she said it. That tight, practiced smile I'd seen at the final fitting. She reached toward me, her hand out as if she would take my arm and guide me back into the center, back into the glitter.
I didn't move toward her.
The younger woman moved first. She had been standing beside her mother in the champagne slip dress, arms at her sides. She stepped sideways, just enough to be between us. She didn't grab her mother. She just put her hand lightly on her forearm and held it there.
"Don't," she said to her mother. Not loud. Just firm. "Don't touch her."
The older woman looked at her daughter, surprised. Her hand hovered mid-air for a second and then lowered. The smile stayed, but it thinned.
"She needs a moment," the younger woman said, still looking at her mother. Then she looked at me. Her eyes were wet but she wasn't crying. She gave a small nod, like go.
I turned toward the back of the ballroom. The white floral arch was behind me, and beyond it the double doors that led to the corridor. The polished marble reflected the chandeliers in long gold lines. The guests were standing now. I hadn't heard them stand, but they were. A hundred people in suits and dresses, parted.
I started walking. I didn't run. I made myself place one foot in front of the other.
The lace skirt moved with me. The buttons down the back of the under-gown caught the light as I passed each table. The beading on my sleeves brushed my wrists with every swing of my arms. I could hear my own breathing and the soft sound my shoes made on the marble.
Someone at the second table shifted their chair to make more room. A man in a gray suit stepped back. A woman held her clutch against her chest. No one spoke to me. No one tried to be funny or to clap. The warm golden light stayed steady from the chandeliers, and it made the floral wall look almost pink near the exit.
Halfway there I felt the groom behind me. I heard him take one step forward. Then stop. He didn't call after me. He didn't grab my wrist. The younger woman must have said something low to him because I heard his breath catch and then nothing.
I kept walking. The envelope was in my left hand, held against my waist. The cream paper had warmed from my palm. I didn't need to open it again. I just needed to keep carrying it.
May you like
At the floral wall, the doors were propped open. The corridor beyond was dimmer, cooler. I didn't look back at the crystal dress on the floor. I left it where it fell, a glittering circle in the middle of the ballroom that wasn't mine anymore.
I walked through the arch and into the hallway, the sound of the ballroom getting softer behind me with every step.
